


shall we come full circle?

by buttonholes



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), Confessions, Festivals, Flirting, Fluff, Ling ships it, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Promised Day, but some of the other kind too, cultural immersion!, fighting!, he's so so so sappy i swear, roy best boy, set in xing, so does Riza, tbh ed's been conning himself from day one, the working together to defeat bad guys kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonholes/pseuds/buttonholes
Summary: Staring’s the only thing Roy can do, as Edward Elric — former Amestrian State Alchemist, also someone he hasn’t seen in three years — flows to his feet.“Ugh, fuck,” Ed says, with feeling, “he fucking tossed me off the balcony.”--It's in Xingdu, the capital city of Xing, that they meet after three years of running and pining. It's a reunion coloured with assassination attempts and street urchins and fireworks in the night sky, but, luckily for these two, Xingdu is a place where things come full circle, where the new rises from the ashes of the old.





	shall we come full circle?

**Author's Note:**

> edited by the lovely, beautiful [falltolight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/falltolight/pseuds/falltolight)!

 

“Oh, fuckfuck _fuck_.” He backpedals, throwing himself behind the nearest pillar. _Mustang is here._

 _Shit_ , he thinks, because he’d come to Xing to _not_ see anyone he knew. _Shit_ , he thinks again, because of all people he had to have seen, it’s the man he wanted to avoid the most, and even though it’s been three years since he last saw him, Mustang’s smile is as charming as ever, and his shoulders look awfully broad in that dark suit.

Ed takes a deep breath. Honestly, he should have known that this would happen. The Emperor’s Feast is held annually, only a week before the Xingnese New Year. It’s customary for the Emperor to invite as least one foreign delegation to attend. And considering how Ling and Mustang worked together on the Promised Day, it should be more of a surprise that Ling had waited three years before inviting the Amestrian Fuhrer to the most opulent party in Xing.

He reaches up to swipe at his hair, and has to restrain a growl when the large, flowy sleeve of his silk robe falls into his face instead. One day, he’s gonna strangle Ling and his court stylists with the silk they love so much. With a huff, he turns and stalks up the stairs to the second floor balconies. At least there he won’t run into Roy Mustang, the King-fucking-Fuhrer of fucking Amestris.

Overlooking the first floor, the balcony gives him a view of the entire ballroom, from the white stone pillars with gilded dragons twined around them, to the floor, tiled with marble shot through with gold streaks. The guests form a roiling sea of tall headdresses and sparkling silk. Ed scans the floor, picking out Ling, in his formal Emperor’s robe, the nine embroidered dragons on the back curling and twisting with every step he takes. It seems that the only one dressed in black tonight is Mustang, and just like that, Ed’s staring. The rich black of the suit probably brings out the paleness of his skin and the darkness of his eyes, makes him look like the kind of man that would make you swoon only to catch you in his arms.

Ed’s teeth find his bottom lip, and he bites down, hard. There’s a reason why he didn’t want to see Mustang. Before, he’d been too caught up in surviving and saving the world to actually give a shit about things like puberty. And so, when the normal wave of hormones had hit after the Promised Day... _well_ , he’d realised what the problem was pretty early on. Then he’d dropped everything and got the fuck out of there, before things got worse.

Dragging his eyes away from Mustang, he sweeps the dance floor again, noting the extra guards at regular intervals along the walls. Ling wasn’t taking any chances tonight. He’s about to turn and leave when his body gives an involuntary twitch. Something’s wrong. He casts his eyes over the ballroom again, but there’s nothing. It’s only when he raises his gaze to the opposite balcony that he finds the source of this faint, expertly masked killing intent.

Ed starts moving.

-

His jaw has started to hurt from all the smiling.

Roy has spent the evening introducing and being introduced to what feels like over a hundred people. It’s the party of the year, and the Amestrian Fuhrer is in attendance, and so it’s unsurprising that the people here are all looking to curry favour in some way. He’s met Xingnese politicians who know their new Emperor is partial to Amestrians, merchants and traders looking either to obtain deals, or to sell off their daughters to the most desirable bachelor after Ling.

It doesn’t matter though. He was well aware of what would come with this job.

With a smile, he deftly excuses himself from another conversation, knowing he’d left the mother-daughter pair completely charmed. Riza, his head of security and bodyguard, puts herself between him and a group of men coming his way, and he tips his head in thanks. He skirts the dance floor and is about to swipe a glass of champagne from a waiter’s tray when suddenly there’s shouting from above.

In a flash, Riza is between him and the source of the noise, gun out and feet spread. Something crashes, there’s more shouting, and guests scream, crowding towards the walls. Roy knows there’s too many people here for him to use fire, but slides his gloves on anyway.

All of a sudden a yellow and red and black shape is being flung from the second floor balcony on his right. The shape twists in the air, revealing itself to be two men, grappling as they fall. They land with a thump and a shout of pain, the red and yellow one on top and the black one below.

Staring’s the only thing Roy can do, as Edward Elric — former Amestrian State Alchemist, also someone he hasn’t seen in three years — flows to his feet.

“Ugh, _fuck_ ,” Ed says, with feeling, “he fucking tossed me off the balcony.” He’s clearly nursing a bruised rib or two, with the way he’s standing.

Roy has to force himself to blink. _Ed is...._ _Ed is alive. And.... well._ He can’t stop his eyes from running over the way Ed’s braid falls over his shoulder, the way the tawny edge of a collarbone peeks out from underneath that gleaming silk robe, the way his jaw is hard but his skin looks soft. It’s been three years, and in that time Ed’s grown from a teen, pretty in a boyish way, to a man that’s golden and _gorgeous_.

Roy starts forward, wants to say something like, _where the hell have you been, why were you away, you’re_ beautiful _tonight_. Ed shakes out his shoulder, shouts, “Ling! Get your royal ass over here and tell me what the hell your guards were doing — this fucker was a sniper!” He kicks at the rifle that had fallen with them.

Surrounded on all sides by burly guards with swords, Emperor Ling emerges from the crowd. “Oh, that’s why we keep you around, Ed,” he says, smiling. Strained laughter ripples across the clustered guests. It’s clear to Roy that that was an answer meant to pacify them — Ling’s eyes are grim slits, and the Xingnese royal guards are probably in for a hell of a reprimand later.

Ling says something in Xingnese, and two of his guards peel away to secure the assassin. Then, turning to address his guests, he smiles again, saying in Amestrian, “Apologies, everyone. Seeing that it is already late, perhaps we should count this as the last of the entertainment lined up for tonight. Thank you for coming.”

The voices of the guests fade as they leave the ballroom. “Edward,” Roy says, starting forward again. “You—“

“Okay, since he’s captured,” Ed announces, kicking at the man again, “I’m just going to leave...” He trails off, and it’s very obvious how he’s doing his best to ignore Roy’s presence. He bites down on his bottom lip, and makes a sharp turn away.

“Ed—“ Ling starts, and at the same time Roy is shouting, “Watch out—“

The guards were groaning on the floor, and the man — he hadn’t been unconscious after all — lunges at Ed. Riza’s gun is up in an instant, trained on the man as he moves, but Ling says, “It’s fine. He doesn’t need the help.”

Roy can’t tear his eyes away from Ed. He’s sliding under the man’s lunge, all liquid smooth power, slipping his robe off his shoulders at the same time. Roy doesn’t even have the time to wonder what he’s doing, before the assassin stops short mid-fall, choking on the length of silk around his neck.

In a flurry of deft hands, Ed ties a knot, and passes the makeshift leash to the nearest guard. He gives the rest of them a hard look, then sighs. Facing Ling, he says something in fluent Xingnese, probably for the benefit of the guards as well. Roy isn’t really surprised — for Ed, picking up a language probably happened without him even trying. Ling gives him a thoughtful nod, and then faces the guards, telling them something else that Roy doesn’t understand. They blanch a bit, then bow, and the assassin is dragged away by the silk around his neck.

Ling turns back to them. “Thank you, Ed,” he says, “That could’ve gone a lot worse.”

“Oh, no,” Ed waves his hands, “don’t thank me. The sniper was aiming at the bastard.” Even as he gestures at him, he’s very pointedly not looking at Roy.

Beside him, Riza tenses. “Sir, I’ll increase your security detail from tomorrow onwards,” she tells him. He sighs, then nods. It’s not like saying no would convince her otherwise, not when it comes to his safety.

“Well then,” Ling says brightly, just as Ed starts shifting from foot to foot, looking like he’s about to dash off any moment. Roy does his best to hide his amusement. “Shall we all retire for the night? Ed, I trust you can guide Fuhrer Mustang back to his quarters? I can bring Lieutenant General Hawkeye to her room.”

“What?” Ed starts, but Ling already has his hand on Riza’s arm, and is pulling her away. Roy hides his smile just in time for Ed to turn back to him.

Ed bites his lip, then scowls and averts his eyes. “This way,” he says, and starts walking. Roy gives him an obedient little smile, and follows after.

He waits till the tension in Ed’s shoulders starts to slip away a little, then asks, “What did you tell Ling just now, in Xingnese?”

Ed had frozen when he’d spoken — Roy know this isn’t the question he’d been expecting — but manages to keep his voice light as he continues walking. “Oh, I just asked him to put me in charge of retraining his guards.”

Roy gives an interested hum. “I was wondering why they were so slow to react.”

“Yeah,” Ed groans a little, “Ling became Emperor only three years ago. When he did, he had to fire all of the last Emperor’s guards, because the only men he could trust were his clan’s. So no one has experience, much less the ability to train people.”

“Oh, really? What about his bodyguard, that Lan Fan girl?”

Ed rolls his shoulders back, and Roy watches the slide of his undershirt against his skin. “She’s an assassin. Different skillset. And she’s guarding some other diplomat, I think. She left a while ago.”

“So I presume you haven’t been at the palace for long, since you’re only doing this now,” Roy says, watching Ed stiffen.

“Where I’ve been is none of your business, bastard,” comes the mutter he’d been expecting.

“Alphonse refused to tell me where you were.”

“Again, none of your fucking business.”

“It _is_ my business.” Roy lets his sincerity bleed through his voice. “It’s been three years. One day you just disappeared, and no one knew where you went, and all your brother would say that you were researching in another country. Tell me how that isn’t my business, Ed.”

“Look, I’m not your subordinate anymore, okay? You don’t need to pull this protective shit on me just because you still see me as some stupid kid.” Ed stops and gestures sharply at the door next to him. “That’s your room,” he says, never looking at him.

 _Three years is a long time. I don’t see you as a stupid kid, at least not anymore_ , was his first thought. He clamps down on the words and steps into the room. “Goodnight, Ed.”

Gold eyes flick up and away. Ed bites down on his lip again, huffs out one last “fuck you”, and leaves.

—

Roy had planned to wake up late the next day, since the important politicking would only start the day after. But Riza drags him out early for breakfast, and in the end he finds himself standing at a balcony with her, watching the Xingnese palace guards train. Ed has them sparring in pairs, interrupting matches here and there to demonstrate.  

“Edward’s a good teacher,” Riza observes. Roy just nods, because something about the morning sun in Xing is pulling at him, turning his gaze to Ed. The sunlight is golden streaks through the cool air, and has threaded Ed’s hair into a precious tapestry, turned his body into a moving painting of lean muscles under skin.

Something had happened, after the Promised Day, that had changed Ed. It’s the only explanation Roy has for the way Ed now is different, but still similar, to the teen he’d known before. He holds himself straighter, lifts his chin with more confidence and less bravado, and moves with focused intent rather than carelessness. _It’s just that..._ Around Roy, all that disappears. He avoids eye contact, gets vulgar and defensive, and Roy swears to himself he’ll find out why before the Amestrian delegation leaves Xing.

“...sir. Sir,” Riza says. He realises he’s been staring at Ed for so long that Ed’s started to shoot them narrowed glances between his work.

“Sorry.” Roy shakes himself out of it. “What were you saying?” Riza looks between him and Ed, and gives him a rare sympathetic look. “What?” he asks.

Riza shakes her head. “I just wanted to inform you that your security detail for the rest of this visit will consist of myself, till breakfast, and then Edward—“

“What? Edward?”

She continues unhindered, “Edward will take over for the rest of the day. After he has finished with the guards’ training, that is.”

Roy fumbles for his words, and manages to say, “But why? You said increased security detail right?”

His Lieutenant General smiles. “The Emperor talked me into it last night. I agreed that Edward can do the job of four guards, or even more than that.” Her eyes glint in a way he knows to be wary of.  “I also agreed that Edward would be _far better_ company for you.”

Roy honestly cannot think of anything to say.

Riza’s still smiling. It’s obvious what she and Ling are thinking, but, well-- he honestly doesn’t know what to think of that. Riza’s eyes slip to the training grounds, and he follows her gaze to realise that the guards have begun to disperse. He swallows.

“Listen.” She touches his arm. “You’ve been pining for three years. It’s been long enough. You know it, I know it, and Ling knows it especially well.” He hears footsteps in the hall outside. “Well,” she says, “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

—

Ed doesn’t bother to knock.

Hawkeye gives him a small smile as she slips out past him. He frowns after her. _Something’s off._

Mustang’s turning to meet him as he enters, looking a bit thrown off for some reason, and Ed fixes a scowl on his face. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“Hm?” Mustang’s gaze is thoughtful as it sweeps over Ed. There’s a pause. Then something changes in his eyes, something sparking to life. “No, it’s just that I was given something... and it would be only polite of me to _take advantage_ of it.”  He’s smiling now, a sly curl of the lips, and Ed can feel the flush rising in his cheeks as the man’s eyes move up and down his body.

Ed bites his lip, pulls himself together. “No! Bastard, I meant why’d you have to keep staring just now.”

“Why?” Mustang’s smile is a lick of flame. “Was it distracting?” Ed’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. “Well,” Mustang says, “It always gives me pleasure to look down upon you.”

It’s the short joke, the first in three years, that snaps him out of it. It’s almost muscle memory, the way he growls and marches forward. Mustang doesn’t move, and only his eyes widen as Ed advances, until he’s so close they have no choice but to lock gazes.

Ed knows he’s grown, especially after his body stopped needing to compensate for Al’s. Standing eye to eye with Mustang like this, it’s obvious that he’s only an inch or two shorter now. He smirks, and raises an eyebrow. “Still looking down on me?”

A moment of tension. Mustang tips his head forward, even closer, and his voice is pitched low. “Hm, maybe not anymore, Ed.” He exhales, breath fanning Ed’s face, and steps back and away.

“Now,” Mustang says, grabbing a jacket, “Since you’re here, and I’m new to Xing, why don’t you take me on a tour of the city?”

—

Ed’s hair is still a little wet from the shower he’d taken before meeting Mustang, but he ties it up anyway.

“Is it always this cold?” Mustang asks.

Ed looks at the way he’s curling into his jacket, hands shoved in his pockets, and has to laugh. “No? This is literally warm for winter here. You missed the snow.”

He hears Mustang grumble something, and snickers till the man stalks on ahead. Looking at his back now, Ed slows down, the confusion from earlier coming back to him. He could’ve sworn that the bastard was flirting with him, the way he used to do with the ladies around Central. But even so, he couldn’t have been serious about it. The man isn’t even available, for fuck’s sake, and, well... _even if he was serious, I still can’t get involved. It would ruin everything for him._

He closes his eyes, imagines punching Ling’s face when he told him about being Mustang’s bodyguard, and steels himself to hold out till the Amestrian delegation leaves. Maybe, after this, this fucking forever-long crush will finally fade.  

Mustang’s waiting for him at the top of the steps, his body outlined by the morning sun, the capital city of Xing, Xingdu, laid out at his feet. _It doesn’t matter, right?_ Ed thinks as he looks at him. _It doesn’t matter even if I tried to keep him away, because he’ll leave at some point, right?_

“Come on,” Ed says as he brushes past him. _It doesn’t matter_ , he tells himself. _It doesn’t matter_. “I’ll show you the city.”

They descend together, into the winding streets of Xingdu.

The capital city of Xing is sprawling and messy, all curved alleys and squat buildings. Everything is built using some kind of yellow ochre coloured stone that Ed can’t name. The people are all brightly dressed, with the material of their clothes betraying their social status — silk for the rich, plain cotton for the commoners. That’s the reason why Ed never wears silk out of the palace, despite the protests of the palace servants. He’s never been a part of any aristocracy, and wearing fancy things only makes him feel like he’s masquerading in someone else’s skin.

Mustang turns in a small circle when they reach the bottom of the steps. He cranes his neck at the palace high above, then looks at the yellow-brown buildings around them. “Why is everything so... circular?” he asks, following the curved walls of the buildings with his eyes.

“Xing is a country that hold its Emperor in almost... divine reverence,” Ed tells him. “So in Xingdu, everything’s built in concentric circles with the palace in the centre.” Mustang makes an affirmative noise, looking up again at the circular palace that overlooked the entire city. “Here, circles mean immortality,” he adds, and a wry smile twists Mustang’s face.

They walk outwards, passing through the residential layers of the circular city to reach the commercial areas. Ed knows that Central City looks a little like Xingdu, in the way the seat of power is located in the centre, and roads run from the centre outwards. But where Central City’s buildings are uniform, roads all sharp angles, all orderly and neat, Xingdu is a tangled mess of back-alleys and buildings of varying heights and widths. It looks like the city had grown organically from the seed of the Emperor’s palace — people migrating, building their own homes, making small roads that wind nonsensically through the city.

After Ling became the Emperor, people had streamed in and out of the city, with his clan members moving in, and that of the previous Emperor moving out. Although the majority of the people here are of Ling’s clan, the reality is that a significant number of those living here aren’t actually related to Ling at all. He’d made it clear that anyone and everyone was welcome, and did his best to build relationships with every clan. Xingdu city now belonged to all the Xingnese, not just the clansmen of the Emperor.

Ed glances at Mustang, who’s walking beside him, taking in the wonders of a foreign country. He’d heard that Mustang, just like Ling, is working on reforming his country, turning it away from the military and pushing it towards democracy.

It occurs to him that, because of that, Amestris probably changed a lot in these three years. Ling had laughed his ass off when Ed had finally told him the real reason he’d agreed to his invitation to visit Xing, but in the end he just let Ed stay in Xingdu for as long as he wants, and had insisted only recently that Ed live in the palace.

One look at Mustang though, and the honest appreciation on his face as they walk through Xingdu, and Ed knows he can’t go back. He has no choice but to spend time with the bastard, because Ling pulled the you-owe-me card on him, but once Mustang leaves, it’ll be over.

—

They reach the marketplaces on the outsides of the city, and the number of people around them steadily increases. The stalls have colourful tarps over them, selling everything from rolls of silk to huge baskets of spices to piles of roasted and dried meat.

“Hold on to your money,” Ed tells him over the shouts of stallholders. “There’re lots of pickpockets around here.”

Roy puts a hand over his pocket as they wade further into the crowds. Women in colourful head scarves, men in plain cotton button-ups — all kinds of people brush past him, elbows jabbing into other’s sides to pass through. Roy grimaces, says, “The people here have no regard for personal space.”

Ed snickers again, clearly taking pleasure in how unbalanced Roy is. “It’s about to get even more crowded than this in a few days.”

“What?” Roy asks. Keeping pace with Ed amidst the throngs of people is like swimming upstream.

Ed shakes his head, and snakes his hand out to pull him into an alcove. There’s a moment where they stand close together, face to face, sharing the same air. Roy wants to reach up, touch Ed’s face, make him meet his eyes. Then Ed turns away, and on impulse Roy grabs his wrist, pulling him back. Ed looks from his face to his hand on his wrist, and steps back further. “What?”

Roy lets go, tells himself to go slow. “Why is it getting more crowded.”

“Ling invited you but didn’t tell you about that?” Ed shakes his head. “The party last night is just a lead-up to the real festival, the Xingnese New Year.” He starts walking, and the alcove turns out to be a narrow alley. Roy realises he has no idea where Ed’s bringing him. “It’s like a festival for the coming of Spring? And other things, like immortality and hope and a celebration of the Emperor.” He shrugs. “The meaning doesn’t really matter. There’s fireworks and drums and a lot of dancing, so almost everyone in Xing comes to Xingdu to celebrate.” Roy catches the tail-end of Ed’s grin. “That’s what you’re in for, bastard.”

“Where are we going?” Roy asks.

“The real Xing’s this way,” Ed says, just as the narrow alley opens up into a small clearing. There are small houses lining the curved walls, all of them smaller and shorter and dirtier than any of the others before.

“Feng! Feng!” comes a chorus of high voices. Children pile out of the houses, all lean limbs and gaunt faces stretched in smiles. They almost bowl Ed over, and they all end up sitting on the stone-paved clearing. Roy blinks, unsure of whether to step forward.

Ed throws his back and laughs, surrounded by children, something clear and rich in the sound. “Come here, bastard.” He thumps the ground next to him. “This is what Xing is really like.” Ed somehow produces a wrapped package out of nowhere, and opens it on the ground, revealing a whole pile of sweets and bread from the palace kitchens. The children, obviously street urchins now that he looks at them, fall upon the food like little animals, chattering at each other and at Ed in Xingnese too fast for Roy to follow.

Roy sits down, but has to take a moment to take it all in: the way Ed’s sitting in a circle of slum children, the way his laugh rings honesty, the way the natural light touches his hair and his eyes and the yellow stone around him.

The food is gone, and the children rearrange themselves suddenly, lining up behind Ed, patting at his shoulders and neck. Ed laughs, and answers in Xingnese. He loosens the tie around his hair, and lets it fall like liquid gold around his shoulders. Roy tries not to stare. The children pat at Ed’s hair, and some even start braiding it.

There’s only one child that hadn’t joined the rest. He looks like the oldest of the bunch, and sits near Roy, the last piece of bread in his hands. When Roy looks at him, the child says something to him in Xingnese, in which Roy only catches something that sounds like ‘Amestris’. “I can only speak Amestrian,” he says.

“That’s fine.” the child tells him in Amestrian. The sharper consonants of Roy’s language sound strange, but it’s understandable.

“Oh, you—“

“I was born there,” the kid says. “My name is Topher.” He takes a bite of his bread. “I’m not an Amestrian citizen though. Not a Xingnese one either.” He seems to catch the curious look on Roy’s face, and sighs like he’s explained this a thousand times, with all the drama of a normal teenager. “I was taken and smuggled across the desert after my parents died.” He shrugs, matter-of-fact. “Then I escaped and ended up here.”

“Are all of the children here like you?” Roy asks.

“No,” Topher says. “Some are from Amestris, others from other part of Xing, or other countries like Aerugo.” He frowns at him. “A lot of people are like us. Orphans. Aren’t there places like this in Amestris too?”

Roy’s first reaction is “of course not”, but he realises that he can’t answer for sure. He hasn’t walked through Central’s slums in a while, too busy with convincing the political elite to loosen their grip on power to really seek out the lives of normal citizens and the lower class. Looking at Topher, and his jaded eyes, Roy can’t deny that he hasn’t made a mistake.

He glances back at Ed, and asks, “Why do you call him _‘feng’_?”

Topher smiles, something like reverence in his eyes. “Everyone here calls him that, because we know what he has done for our Emperor. That’s because _‘feng’_ means ‘phoenix’, the protector of the Emperor. It is a golden firebird that never dies.” He gestures at Ed, whose hair is being braided haphazardly. “Gold hair and gold eyes mark an immortal soul.”

 _An immortal soul._ Roy looks at Ed, at his smile, his hair, his eyes, and thinks, _that’s just another way of saying_ Fullmetal, _isn’t it?_ Edward Elric, the boy who had been given a choice to save his brother or save the world, who had gritted his teeth and stubbornly chose _both_ , over and over and over again, never giving up, never letting go.

Ed looks up, then, and Roy can’t help but smile at him. It’s soft, and sappy, and he doesn’t even mind when Ed frowns and turns away.

They spend the day like that: Roy getting to know the orphan children in Xing, Ed laughing and playing with the kids he’s spent three years helping.

—

It takes Mustang surprisingly long to continue on his line of questioning from the first night. This time, when he asks Ed why he left Amestris, and why he didn’t return for years, Ed’s prepared.

It’s after Mustang’s last meeting of the day — something about importing rice, etc, etc, Ed wasn’t paying attention. They’re sitting in a street stall that he had brought Mustang to, eating the best meat dumplings in Xingdu city.

“So,” Mustang says, and Ed knows that spark in his eyes. “You never really told me what you’ve been doing all this time.”

Ed sighs. “I gave up my alchemy, on the Promised Day,” he answers, watching the other man’s face for a reaction. Mustang is straight-faced, but there’s a hint of sympathy in his eyes. He probably can’t imagine what it’s like, not being able to use alchemy. “It started with me just wanting to exercise my arm and leg, but I realised that, well,” he shrugs, “I wanted to get stronger, and I didn’t want people looking down on me just because I lost what gave me my fame. And I heard Xing had masters in martial arts, so I came here to learn.” He shrugs again. “I told Al to call it ‘research’ to anyone who asks. He told me to come back whenever I’m ready.” Ed really isn’t lying. That was actually his second reason for coming to Xing, after getting the hell away from Mustang. There hadn’t been an enemy to fight anymore, but his limbs had felt weak and he had felt lost.

“And?” Mustang asks. There’s something more than curiosity in his eyes. Ed tries not to think about it. “When will you be ready?”

Ed’s found and bothered every single Xingnese martial arts master he’d heard of, which is why he’s only just come to the palace. His body is strong, he’s found his confidence again, and he won’t lose a fight against anyone. But he hasn’t gotten over Mustang yet. He’d successfully not thought about him for a while, but now it’s obvious that nothing has changed. His feelings are the same as before, maybe even deeper, even harder to untangle. The only solution he can think of is to not see Mustang again.

“I don’t know,” Ed tells him. “Just not now.”

—

Sometimes, Ling feels as if Greed had left traces on his own personality. That symbiosis had changed the way he viewed his subjects and friends from mere protective instincts to _you can’t touch them, they’re mine._

That’s exactly what he’s feeling now, staring down into the face of the man that had targeted both Mustang and Ed. He wants to order his execution immediately, but reigns himself in. He needs information. Who would want to kill the Amestrian Fuhrer or the former Fullmetal Alchemist? He frowns. That would be very many people.

“Let me into the cell,” he tells the guard. The door is opened, and he steps in. The assassin lies motionless in the corner of the cell, chains around his wrists and torso. “You will receive water and food,” Ling says, “if you tell us who hired you.”

The assassin raises his head with a clink of his chains. His smile is bloody. “So the Emperor himself has come to meet me?” His voice is scratchy from disuse. “I am honoured.” In the dim light of the jail, his face is in shadow. But it’s clear enough that he is Xingnese, with the narrow glinting eyes and dark hair, although his skin is darker than normal.

“But well, your men already told me that,” the man says, face twisting. He spits at Ling’s feet. “That’s all I have to say to you.”

Ling sighs, turns, and leaves. The prison guards close the cell door, and the rest follow him down the corridor back to the palace. “Apologies, Your Majesty,” the captain says with a bow. “He said nothing even through our interrogation methods. Those were the only words we’ve heard from him.”

“It’s fine.” Ling waves his hand. He slows down and faces him. “From that we can conclude other things as well.”

The captain nods. “We believe that he is from the Southern part of Xing, because of his complexion.”

“Yes, that and he was not hired as an assassin,” Ling says. “If he were doing this for money, he would’ve broken under your kind ministrations.” The guards’ spines straightened at the assurance that it was not entirely their fault. “And with the disrespect to me, and an attack on political allies...”

“There are traitors against you, Your Majesty. Most likely an enemy clan,” the guard says. Ling gives him a grim nod.

“Xin Nian is tomorrow,” Ling says. “It’s possible they’ll try again — this man may have only been sent to test us.” He takes a deep breath, says, “But the festival isn’t something that we can call off.”

“We’ll do our best, Your Majesty. Especially now that Sir Feng has helped us,” the captain says.

“Good.” Ling gives them a tight smile, and the guards salute.

He sighs as he turns back to the palace. He wishes Lan Fan were here to back him up, but she’s with Kheng, a diplomat in Eastern Xing, and won’t be back for weeks. He sighs again, and hopes Ed will accept having a security detail for tomorrow’s festival.

—

“I don’t need a security detail, idiot,” Ed says, wrenching away from Ling.

Roy sighs. “The festival is about to start, isn’t it? Just let them trail us, Ed.”

Ed huffs and turns away, silk coat flapping behind him. Ling gives him a grateful look, then gestures for him to come closer. “Xin Nian is a celebration of new beginnings,” he says, voice low so Ed won’t hear. “It’s a time of starting over, so that everyone can be happy together when the flowers of spring come.” Ling smiles and salutes him. “Good luck, Fuhrer Mustang.”

Roy rolls his eyes but can’t stop his smile. Because of Ling and Riza, he’s spent the past few days with Ed, in between all of his diplomatic negotiations with the Xingnese court. And honestly, Ling’s sense of romance must match his perfectly, because even Roy couldn’t have done better than a night out together during a festival. Ling had even made it such that Roy wouldn’t have to join him at the balcony that the Emperor usually sits in, presiding over the festivities. Tonight, Roy is just another man with his heart set on some successful wooing.

When Roy joins Ed near the palace doors, he huffs again at the three guards that join them, who all look rather sheepish to be guarding the man that had trained them for the past few days. “Don’t disappoint me,” Ed tells them.

“Sir!” The guards salute. Ed spins towards the doors, and Roy follows, backed up by the three guards.

As per tradition, the palace doors are thrown open, and the festival is held right at the palace steps. Everything is in red and gold — the colours of prosperity — so much so that Roy had even been disallowed from wearing his usual formal suit, as white is a funeral colour in Xing. Instead, he was forced into a red vest with gold accents and black slacks by the palace servants. It’s probably in order to match Ed’s red coat, with a gold, flaming phoenix embroidered on the back. Even the guards have red sashes over their black uniforms.

The bonfire lit in front of the palace reflects in the sheen of Xingnese silk as the revelers move about. Some are dancing, some laughing, some are already drunk even this early in the night. There’s crowds, and noise, and stallholders shouting, selling gold paper lanterns, and small red candles.

Ed sweeps past Roy, straight into the crowds, and emerges holding two mugs. Roy thanks him, takes a sip. “It’s like Amestrian beer,” Ed says, “but—“

“Spiced?” Roy asks, feeling the bite on his tongue.

“Yeah,” Ed answers. Roy sees his grin falter a little, as his gaze sweeps down his body. He knows his vest hugs his chest and waist, he knows Ed bites his lip when he likes what he sees— above all he knows that tonight is the night to make a move. Roy smiles, goes to step closer—

Firecrackers go off somewhere to his right, loud and obnoxious. He oversteps, and their mugs crash into each other, drinks spilling. “Be careful, bastard,” Ed says.

“Ah, sorry.” Roy smiles, definitely not sorry. In the corner of his eye, he sees the three guards tailing them step away to give them some privacy. Whether it’s on Ling’s orders or their own discretion, Roy’s grateful.

He steps closer again, right into Ed’s personal space. His chin tips up to meet Roy’s eyes, and he says, “Mustang—“

“Shh...” Roy touches his cheek. “Ed, listen. I... I need to make it clear that I don’t see you as anything but an equal… not for a long time, now.” Ed’s eyes are wide, something dark like hunger in their golden depths. “You’re neither a child, nor my subordinate. You’re a brave, beautiful man that I admire and respect, and someone that I’d like to spend more time with, if you feel the same way.” Roy pauses. “So, Ed, what do you say?”

He watches the bob of Ed’s throat as he swallows. “How… How long?” he asks.

Roy takes that as a good sign. He shifts closer, lets his fingers become a more insistent pressure along Ed’s jaw. “It’s a little embarrassing but…” Roy huffs out a laugh, then locks gazes with Ed, tries to be open and honest. “Since a little before the Promised Day.” He hesitates, tries to find words to explain something that had felt weird and exploitative at the time, but was really just deep appreciation and respect, growing into something more. “I…” Ed takes this sharp little breath, and in the face of his wide eyes and red bitten lips, Roy just can’t— “Riza told me it was weird at the time, and it did feel weird, but even now I can’t deny that I’m—“

His words get cut off as fireworks roar, exploding into colourful shards in the night sky. The flashes of light play on Ed’s face, and for a moment everything is frozen. The scene looks like the perfect set-up for a romantic confession, everything is in the right place, Ed is beautifully flushed, and just in that second Roy feels as if Ed might say yes. But even as the people around them celebrate new beginnings, even as the fireworks light up the night, Roy watches as something in Ed’s eyes closes off, his mouth clicks shut, his emotions lock down. He sees the flash of confusion and pain just before Ed goes blank, averts his gaze. He’s said something wrong, and this is now a wasted chance.

He tries to call after Ed when he pulls away and heads into the crowd, but his voice is lost in the racuous noise.

—

_Riza told me it was weird._

Ed wants to scream. He has no idea what Mustang’s thinking at all. _Does this count as cheating?_ What was he thinking, when he’d agreed to spend Xin Nian with Mustang? When Mustang should’ve been next to Hawkeye all this while?

 _He is the person that is closest to me, and I would give up my life for him_ — That’s what Hawkeye said that night, when he’d tried to ask about the nature of their relationship. _I was naive then, I’m naive now._ How could he think any different, when Mustang had spent the Promised Day protecting her with all the ferocity of a firestorm? _Does Hawkeye know, that Mustang’s spending all his time with me? What_ is _the nature of their relationship? Why is Mustang romancing_ me, _of all people?_

He doesn’t know what to believe, doesn’t know whether Mustang was telling the truth when he’d talked about how he felt, doesn’t know if Hawkeye had been telling the truth, doesn’t know if that’s a romantic declaration or just… something else? What could something else be?

And _what the fuck_ — He can’t even consider what would happen if Mustang _was_ telling the truth. What would happen to his Fuhrership, if people found out that he’s —   _crushing on? in love with? what the fucking hell_ — _involved_ with another man, who is at the same time someone that the people may hate or look down on because, well, _ex_ -State Alchemist? With no fucking alchemy?

Three years have brought him here, and he’s looking up from his feet to find that he’s back where he started, all over again.

He wants to beat Mustang’s face in. Also Ling. And he also wants to cry because what the _fuck_ , he’s fucking tired of being alone and he just wants to hug his brother and tell him everything that has gone wrong.

He stumbles through the crowd, throws himself into an alley. When he closes his eyes all he sees is Mustang’s face. _You’re a brave, beautiful man. Someone I’d like to spend more time with._ When he’d put his hand on his jaw, Ed had felt like hope had just socked him in the face. He throws an arm over his eyes, leaning back against the wall, pushes everything back down. He has to get his shit together.

Footsteps come his way, and he tenses. “This really isn’t the time,” he says without looking.

“Sir Feng!” The voice is high and young and bright. Ed looks up. It’s two street kids, the rare ones that he doesn’t recognise on sight. “Please,” one says. “We need your help.”

Their eyes shine in the darkness of the alley, and Ed sighs, pushing himself off the wall. “What’s wrong?”

“The gangs,” the other kid says, head lowered. “They’re coming with guns and knives. Our friends are still there.”

Ed knows he has no choice but to help. Street children have no parents to rely on, and anyone who could help would be off-duty now. He nods, and they lead him through the alleys at a run. They’re heading vaguely east, towards the less popular marketplaces. The narrow streets are dark and deserted, buildings looming over them. Everyone is at the festival in the city centre. He frowns, but follows the children anyway.

Spring hasn’t entirely settled in yet, and away from the bonfire, Ed’s starting to feel the late night chill. He grits his teeth, presses on. At least kicking the shit out of some bullies will help him blow off steam.

—

As with every year, Xin Nian is loud and raucous and colourful. The fireworks have just been set off, and from the Emperor’s balcony they’re absolutely beautiful.

Ling smiles, sipping at his beer. He’s surrounded on almost all sides by guards, all tense because they still haven’t rooted out the traitors. Honestly, he’s expecting another attempt tonight, this time on his own life. That’s why he refused to view the festival from behind a window despite the danger, and is instead on the balcony, in full, tempting view. And so, Ling folds his hands in his silk sleeves, and waits.

True enough, it’s halfway through the second bout of fireworks that a black shape comes zipping through the air. His guards notice too, and their weapons are out in an instant. At the last moment, just before those at the front lunge to impale the figure on their spears, he shouts, “Stop! Return to your places.”

There’s a second of hesitation from them, but they return to standing at his sides and back. The black figure lands on the balcony railing, but when she reaches up to push her hood back, she loses her balance, and Ling has to step forward and pull her into his arms. He’d recognise this black outfit and mask anywhere on earth — Lan Fan always has his back, and he will always have hers.

“Young master,” she gasps out. Ling eases her into his chair, touches her face. There’s a fine tremor running through her, and her skin is clammy and sick.

“Lan Fan,” he says, forcing her to look at him. “What happened?”

“The east... tra- traitors... The Yuan clan...”

She looks like she’s going to pass out. Ling opens the jacket wrapped around her, and she falls silent on a pained gasp.

He hisses in a breath at the length of wood sticking out of Lan Fan’s side. “Healer!” he barks at the nearest guard. The arrow had gone straight through her, and she’d broken off the excess on either side. “Lan Fan.” He cradles her head. “What about Kheng?”

“Dead,” she says. Ling closes his eyes. Kheng had been a trustworthy man, willing to work with him despite being from a different clan.

“We’ll get you help,” he tells her.

Lan Fan’s eyes sharpen then, some kind of desperate determination causing her to grip Ling’s hand hard enough to bruise. “Not me,” she says, breathing quick and shallow. “ _Edward_. Help Edward.”

—

“Sir,” one of the guards say. “Shall we go after him?”

Roy shakes the shock off. He should’ve read the situation better, should’ve known just a confession wouldn’t be enough to convince someone who probably was busy denying himself happiness even now. “Let’s go,” he says.

They push into the crowd in the vague direction that Ed had gone. But there’s too many people, and the further away they move from the bonfire, the darker it gets.

“Sir! Sir!” There’s someone running after them. Roy elbows past the guards only to find Topher standing in front of him. The black-haired kid is visibly worried, eyes going back and forth between the guards and Roy.

“You okay?” Roy asks.

“Yes, yes... I’m fine. But I saw Feng going—“

“Ed?” Roy’s crouching now, hands on Topher’s bony shoulders. “What happened?”

“He went off with these two kids... I don’t know what they told him to get him to go with him but—“ Topher cuts off. “They’re trouble. They’re runners, for gangs. Feng wouldn’t know their faces.”

Roy doesn’t even hesitate. “Which way?”

Topher’s nodding already. “I’ll lead you. You don’t know Xingdu the way I do.” With that, the skinny kid is running in and out of alleys, and it’s all Roy and the guards can do to keep up. He stops after a while though, at a place where the alley splits into three. “I followed them till here,” Topher says.

“Okay,” Roy says, pulling on his gloves. He can tell from the look in Topher’s eyes when he said “trouble” that he really meant it. _Shit, quick decision, quick decision._ “Okay,” he says, and tears off the hem of his slacks. “Pencil, pen, anything?” he asks the rest, and in a second there’s eyeliner in his hand. Topher shrugs, and Roy decides not to question whether he’d stolen this off someone. He tears the cloth in half, and draws a quick circle. “Here,” he shoves it into the hands of two of the guards. “If you find him, make sure you’re out of the way and the circle’s facing up, then shout ‘fire!’ and there’ll be a flare. Okay?” They nod. “Good. I’ll go alone,” Roy says, not entertaining any protests. Even if this may be an assassination attempt, he’s the most capable of taking care of himself, and his flames would only be friendly fire at such close quarters. He doesn’t want to endanger anyone. He turns his gaze to the guards. “Two of you pair up, one goes alone. Topher, go to the palace and tell Ling. Come back within half an hour. If there’s no flare but one of us is late, go after them.” Nods from all around, and they’re off, splitting up along the alleys.

He’s been running for at least ten minutes before he hears suspicious noises. It could be someone having real loud sex, but it sounds more like a fight. He puts his back to the nearest wall, and peeks round the corner. The alley opens up to a clearing much like the one that he’d met Topher in, except there’s a small little garden in the corner, with a tiny red wooden bridge arching over a pool of water. In the middle is Ed fending off four men with knives, his movements sharp and deadly. Behind him, another man is giving coins to two street children — the runners that lured Ed here. Roy cranes his neck, but can’t see if there are any more men waiting in the darkness further in the alleys.

In the end though, six little daggers thrown in a circle around Ed answers that question for him. _Xingnese remote alchemy._ He pushes himself off the wall, takes aim, and concentrates the heat into a pinpoint of flame to melt one dagger and break the circle. Then he advances out of the alley and into the clearing.

“Mustang!” Ed shouts, just as he’s flipping one of the men to the ground. “Get the fuck away! It’s the same guys as before.”

Roy ignores him, sends a burst of flame into the air above him as both a warning and a flare to the others. The other three men scatter, and he joins Ed in the centre of the clearing. “Haven’t you figured it out already, Sir _Feng_ ?” comes a voice from somewhere in the darkness. His Amestrian is heavily accented. “Our target is you. We wanted to kill the Fuhrer at the party, but by taking down our assassin, you only reminded us that _you_ are the reason why that bastard is on the throne. _You_ are the strength of Xing and Amestris.” The voice becomes a growl. “And, by killing you, we will _tear it all down!_ ” More men launch themselves from the darkness, curved Xingnese swords shining in the dim light.

Roy sighs. “He just completely overlooked me, didn’t he?” he says, sending bursts of flame arcing down all of the alleys that surround them.

Ed eyes the rows and rows of men the fire reveals, and puts his back to Roy. It’s a display of trust, and an unspoken offer to forget about before until this fight is over. “Yeah, he did. They’re underestimating the both of us.” Roy makes a mournful sound, and shakes his head. They’re back to back now, a whirling force of fire alchemy and close combat skills.

—

He doesn’t want to admit it, but Mustang arrived at just the right time. Men at close quarters is something he can handle, but Mustang’s a perfect counter to the long range of remote alchemy that the Xingnese are known for. And, well, together they fight like a well-oiled machine. Mustang knows him well, knows the way he fights, knows he prefers to dodge rather than block, to feint high and hit low — they adjust their positions to the way the other moves, and for a few moments it’s as if they can read each other’s minds.

That is, until someone throws a fucking grenade.

Both of them jump, and Ed’s thrown into a fucking wall, which fucking _hurts_ , and all of a sudden he’s buried under a pile of soldiers all trying to get at him with knives. He fends them off until he has enough space to vault up the wall and out of their encirclement. When he lands though, it’s directly on another remote alchemy circle that’s just begun to activate. He swears and jumps again, but one foot gets caught by the ground, which has swirled up like vines. “Fuck,” he says again, and uses his next attacker’s momentum to drive his weapon into the stone and shatter it. “Mustang!’ he shouts again, “Get the roofs, the alchemists are there!”

“Sorry!” Mustang shouts back. He’s near the little bridge, fighting with a stolen sword and drenched from head to toe. “The pond was deeper than I thought!”

Ed flips another guy onto the ground. “You fucking idiot!”

“It’s not actually—“ Mustang cuts off and someone else yelps. “Not actually my fault!”

Ed wants to rip him to pieces. He spins, lashes out, and tries to move towards where Roy is. Daggers come at him again, and he lunges between them to bat two out of the air to ruin the formation. He gets a better view of Mustang when he gets closer, and the man really is entirely wet, unable to produce even a spark. There’s something darker than the drenched silk that’s spreading over his vest, and Ed asks, “Are you okay?”

He’s close enough to hear the pained hiss under Mustang’s breath when he ducks a blow. “Yeah… just a graze.”

“Okay,” Ed says, telling himself to take his words at face value. “Use your alchemy to get the roofs.”

“I already told you I can’t!” Mustang says, whirling so they’re back to back again, Ed stretching to cover his wounded side as well.

“No, you fucking idiot. You opened the gate, right? Use it!” Ed punctuates his words with a kick that sends a man flying.

Mustang’s silent for a while. “… I don’t know how. It’s never worked before.”

“ _Ohmygod,_ ” Ed says. “I _hate_ you.” Someone slashes at him and he catches the knife on his right arm without thinking. The blade cuts to the bone and he snarls at the pain. “Fuck, okay,” he tells Mustang. “Think really hard of what you want to see and then just clap your hands together. It should work. I’ll cover you.”

“I’ve tried that already!” he shouts.

Another blade grazes his thigh, and Ed growls out, “No, it’s not just _thinking_ — it’s _feeling it_ you need desperation and emotion just focus on how much you want something.”

“Okay, okay,” Mustang says. He falls silent for a while, then, “One, two, _three_.” He ducks, Ed covers him, and there’s a loud clap that resounds in nothing at all. “Fuck, one more time,” he hears Mustang say, and ends up gaining at least two more injuries protecting him. Another clap, and this time it’s successful, the ground rumbling, and then pushing them upwards to form a tall cylinder upon which they stand.

“Can’t see the alchemists from here, idiot,” Ed says.

“No, find the leader. Where’s the leader,” Mustang gasps out, hand pressed to his side. It looks like more than just a graze, more serious than Ed’s wounds, but Ed forces himself to scan the ground beneath them. They need to move fast, before the remote alchemists decide to do their own thing to get at them. “If they want to have a coup, they definitely need a leader. Someone they’d protect,” Mustang tells him.

“Okay.” Ed spots a cluster of soldiers around a man that doesn’t look like the others. He’s wearing robes and formal headwear, and has distanced himself from the fighting. “Got him,” he says. “What next?”

Mustang peeks over the edge to find where Ed is pointing, then breaths in and out slowly. “Hold on,” he tells him. “I’m going to—“ He closes his eyes, puts his hands out, and Ed grabs the edges of the rock cylinder. Mustang claps. There’s a brief sense of freefall, as the cylinder curves down and shoots towards the man, and wind rushes past Ed’s face. Using the momentum, he throws himself off the edge, flips over the guards and takes down that one man, pinning him down.

The guards scatter, shouting. The man he has in a headlock chokes, his finery tearing, and scrabbles at Ed’s arms. “Get away,” Ed growls, “or I’ll—“

“Ed, no!” Mustang’s eyes are wide as he launches himself towards Ed, and when he lands the leader grunts in pain, caught between him and the ground. Ed’s stuck half-turned, looking up at the Mustang, watching electricity crackle to life above his body. Mustang’s body jerks with the shocks but his eyes are still wide, fixed on Ed. The electricity flares, it must hurt -- _fuck, that must hurt_. And yet-- and yet, he’s touching Ed’s face, saying, “You okay?”

Ed’s breath is coming quick and shallow. He gets up, puts a boot on the leader to make him stay down, finds the six daggers pinned in the flesh of Mustang’s back. He grits his teeth, plunges his hand into the electricity and tears out one of the daggers. Mustang groans, and collapses.

“If any of you move, I’ll fucking make this guy,” Ed stomps on the leader, making him yelp, “regret being alive.”

The rest of the men freeze, but then the man under Ed’s boot seems to regain himself. “Kill them!” he shouts, and Ed stomps again. Ed tenses, ready for a second round, knows he needs to get Mustang help fast, because there’s a puddle of blood already and it’s spreading.

“Sir Feng!” comes a shout, and then, “FIRE!” Twin streaks of flame come bursting out of the alley he’d come from. The enemy soldiers flinch and back away, impending attack forgotten. Ed glares at them, growls, and they turn tail and run.

Their bodyguards for the night emerge from the alley, soot on their faces. “We already sent for help, sir,” one says.

“Good job,” Ed tells them without looking, and drops to his knees next to his Fuhrer. “Mustang,” he says, easing a hand under his head. He’s shivering in his wet clothes, and Ed draws him close for warmth. “You with me?”

“Ed?” he groans.

“Yeah.” Ed presses down on the wound in his side, trying to stop the bleeding. “Bastard, stay with me, okay? Eyes on me.”

Mustang coughs a little, and when he meets Ed’s eyes there’s a smile lingering on his lips. “Idiot,” he says weakly. “My eyes are always on you.”

—

“Edward. Edward? Ed?” Hawkeye’s voice breaks through his daze. “Why are you sitting outside? You can go in, you know? He isn’t awake, but he’ll want to see you when he is.”

Ed looks up at her from his cross-legged position on the floor, where he’s staring at the closed door of the makeshift hospital room. “I don’t know,” he tells her. The palace healers have done their work, and with the wonders of Xingnese healing alchemy, all Mustang needs to do now is sleep it off.

“What’s wrong?” Hawkeye sits down next to him, her eyes sympathetic. For all the times she can be coldly professional, she really does have a soft spot for Ed.

“I…” Ed starts, thinks better, recollects himself. “He got hurt protecting me. Fucking bastard took the remote alchemy circle and got electrocuted.” He runs a hand through his loose hair.

“Well,” Hawkeye’s voice is thoughtful. “That’s what he does for the people he cares about.”

There’s a pause. “…Does he care that way about you?” The question’s out before Ed can stop himself. _Ugh._ He draws his legs up and puts his face between his knees.

“We care about each other,” Hawkeye says slowly. “But not in a romantic way. I told you before, he’s the closest person to me in the world, and I’d die for him any day, but close relationships don’t always have to be romantic. And well, rumours in Amestris only go wild because the public desperately wants to see our bachelor king get married. They don’t really care to who.” She glances at him, smiles. “Anyway,” she says, standing up. “We did try, for a little while after the Promised Day. It didn’t work though.” She gives him one last smile and opens the door to Mustang’s hospital room. “Even through that, he’s always been pining after you.”

After she disappears into the room, Ed sighs, thumps his head into his knees. That was supposed to be a revelation, but it didn’t really feel like one. He’d kind of always known that there was nothing but close friendship between Hawkeye and Mustang. He’d just told himself that— “She’s right, you know.”

“Fuck off, Ling,” Ed says to his knees. “I don’t need another pep talk.”

“Um, _actually_.” He can hear Ling rolling his eyes. “You do.”

“No, I don’t.” Ed changes the subject. “How’s Lan Fan?”

“She’s healing,” Ling says. “She’ll be better in no time.” He pauses, and Ed hopes to God he’ll just go away. “Wait,” Ling says, “back to what we were talking about.” Ed swears and Ling kicks him lightly on his uninjured side. “Look, I let you into my country and into my palace because I wanted to pay you back for all you’ve done for me. I only realised later that you were just running away from something, and then I regretted it.” Ed looks up at him, and Ling’s face is completely serious. “So this,” he says, gesturing at the door, “is my _real_ gift to you, to thank you for everything.”

“What.” Ed looks from him to the door. “What.”

Ling groans, throws his hands into the air. “Happiness, Ed! I’m giving you happiness!” And then, as Ed gapes, he stalks away, muttering.

Ed sighs again, goes back to staring at the door. He thinks of Hawkeye, and Ling, and Mustang, and thinks about happiness, and maybe thinks a little about love, and then thumps his head against the wall.

He looks again at the door, and makes a decision.

—

It’s been a few days, but Roy hasn’t seen Ed at all. He hasn’t come into his recovery room, hasn’t brought gifts like the others, hasn’t even bothered to drop by and tell him to get better soon. They haven’t been apart for so long for the whole time he’s been in Xing, and— well, if Ed’s avoiding him now that only means Roy has to get used to this feeling of abandonment.

At least he’s feeling a little better though. He’d told Hawkeye he could make his own way back to his room from the hospital wing, and to his surprise she’d acquiesced. He reaches the door, turns the knob and enters the room, stumbling immediately towards the bed.

“Um,” comes a voice from behind him, and Roy startles, but there’s a smile on his face before he knows it.

“Ed,” he says, easing himself down onto the edge of the bed. “You look better.” There are bandages on his cheek and arms but the light from the window is falling over his face, and Roy can see his collarbones in that v-neck shirt.

“Yeah,” Ed runs a hand through his hair — it’s loose, and Roy needs to stop. “Thanks to you, I guess.”

Roy smiles. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Ed clears his throat, and comes forward. He puts his hands on Roy’s shoulders, avoiding all his injuries, and widens his stance. Roy wants to say something, but words don’t come because, ever so slowly, Ed sinks down to sit in his lap. He forces himself to stay still as Ed slides his hands up, buries them in Roy’s hair, and looks into his eyes. “This,” Ed says, pulling him closer, “is a confession.” He sucks in a breath, and Roy waits, knows he has to let Ed do this. Their gazes meet, and hold. “I’m so, so, _so_ fucking in love with you it scares me, and... I’m sorry you had to wait so long for me to catch up.”

Roy smiles again, wider this time, and finally allows himself to touch. He tips Ed’s chin up, another hand behind his head, and angles down for a kiss. And, well, _fuck_ , because this is better than he’d ever imagined, because Ed’s mouth just falls open for him, just like that, and Roy lets himself lick in, swallow all the pretty little noises Ed’s making, lets himself thumb the sharp edges of his collarbones and make Ed fucking _moan_.

They’re both panting when they separate, and Roy has his hands in Ed’s soft hair, running the strands between his fingers. Ed leans his forehead against Roy’s. “Hey,” he says.

“Mm,” Roy says back, eyes following the curves of Ed’s kiss-swollen lips. He twists Ed’s hair around his fingers and pulls, making him meet his eyes. “Come back to Amestris with me?”

“Yeah,” Ed says, pressing Roy’s head into his neck as he sucks at the skin there. “Yeah, it’s past time.”

**Author's Note:**

> loosely based off the actual Chinese New Year, in which there is a lot more incense burning and lion dancing. also written with liberal use of Panic! and one ok rock
> 
> i left the ending a little open, i think -- wasn't sure about stretching into smut
> 
> if you have thoughts! please leave a comment / kudos so i know if i'm doing this whole writing thing right :') thanks for reading!


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